Part 8

His hand trembled, and his lips quivered as if he wished to say more; soon he started on the journey from which none return. Poor Heigo! he could not join the great fight soon to take place, but died in this sad way. An apology for not doing anything better and an entreaty to be avenged were the last words of this loyal subject. On the following day his comrades interred his remains in the field, and Chaplain Toyama read prayers and gave him a posthumous name according to the Buddhist custom. The tomb-post bearing this new name was set up facing Port Arthur.[45]

Here I must tell you about a memorial service for the dead that was held in the camp. Since our attack on Kenzan, we had lost no small number of men, so his Excellency the Commander of our Division appointed the 1st of July for a service in memory of those brave souls. An altar was raised on a farm near Lingshwuihotszu toward the cloudy evening of that day. It was called an altar, but in reality it was only a desk that we found in a farmer’s yard. It was covered with white cloth, and a picture of Amida Buddha that Chaplain Toyama happened to have was hung above it. In front of the altar, boxes were piled up containing the ashes,—these boxes were about five inches square. Also provision was made for burning incense, and the altar was set facing Port Arthur. The dim light of candles added to the gloom and sadness of the occasion; the insects singing far and near seemed to chant about the inconstancy of all things. A shower falling through the willow-branches, which were being combed by the winds, seemed like tears of heaven. The officers of the division formed a semicircle before the altar, the soldiers stood behind them, and when the reading of the Scriptures by the chaplain was ended, the commander stepped forward solemnly and offered incense, then bowed his head and did not raise it for some minutes. His heart was full of untold grief and gratitude. His lips were repeating the phrase, “You have done well!” The spirits of the brave dead must also have been grieved to have left such a worthy general. Other officers, one by one, followed the general, bowing and offering incense, each sorrowing over his unfortunate subordinates. “You have fought bravely and proved the success of my training. You have faithfully done your duty and been useful instruments in the hands of His Majesty,” was the silent tribute each officer gave his own men. The surviving men, who had entered the garrison at the same time with those unfortunate comrades and striven with them in the performance of their daily duties, must have envied their manly, heroic death and wished they had so distinguished themselves as to die with them. The drops moistening the sleeves of the officers and men, now bowing before the altar, were not merely from the shower of heaven.

THE BATTLE OF TAIPO-SHAN

AFTER we repulsed the enemy at Kenzan in their desperate attempts at retaking the hill, our position increased daily in strength. On the one hand, every preparation was being made for an aggressive movement. Twelve guns captured at Nanshan were arranged on the heights near Lwanni-chiao, and six heavy naval guns were placed on the height to the west of Chuchin-antsu. On the other hand, powerful scouting parties were being frequently dispatched to ascertain the arrangement of the advance posts of the enemy. At this time, the enemy’s main position was on the steep hills between Eijoshi in the north with Shwangtai-kou and Antsu-ling in the middle, and Taipo-shan and Laotso-shan in the south. They had fortified these naturally strong places with everything that money and time could afford, fully determined not to allow us Japanese to advance even one step south of this line. So it was extremely difficult to take this position by storm. But we had been drawing our bow for a month, and were now quite ready and anxious to let the arrow go. The opportunity ripened, the men’s morale was at its best. On July 26, all the columns and corps started from our position with one accord to descend upon the Russian position in the south.

The sole objective of the regiment to which I belonged was the strongly fortified Taipo-shan, on which the enemy relied as the most important point in their advance position. On the night previous to the opening of hostilities the plan of campaign was minutely explained to us; the brigadier-general specially urged officers and men to do their uttermost and never to stop until the place was captured, saying that this battle was the first important step toward the real investment of Port Arthur, and that we were to attack the strongest of the enemy’s advance posts. Our colonel also addressed us, and said that this was the first time that our regiment was to fight as a whole; that the final victory of a battle is, in fact, won early in the struggle; that all our lives belonged to him as our commander and that he would not hesitate to sacrifice them, but would resort to whatever means he might think advisable, during the act of fighting. He also told us that this was the time for us to put to test the spirit of Bushidō,[46] in which we had been long and carefully trained; that we must remember his every-day instructions in general and the one given on the day of our departure from the garrison in particular, so that we might concentrate our thoughts and aspirations upon justifying His Majesty’s gracious trust in us, and be ready to fall, all of us, under the honored banner of our regiment. This was truly a solemn injunction! The commanders of the battalions and companies followed suit, and each of us was carefully put in mind of his duty and urged to do his very best to keep the honor of the regiment unsullied. Thus our already willing determination was made still firmer and stronger. We were in such an uplifted state of mind that we had taken the whole of Taipo-shan before beginning hostilities.

The scene in the camp presented an extraordinary sight during the night previous to our march. Comrade was whispering with comrade here and there. Some there were who grasped their rifles lightly and smiled a lonely smile by themselves. Others changed to their best and cleanest underwear, so that they might not disgrace themselves before the enemy, dead in dirty clothing. Still others were looking vacantly into the heavens and singing in an undertone. And what was I thinking at this moment? All, I hope, were equally anxious to be able to die happy and contented, saying, “I have done my duty, by the blessing of Heaven.”

Before daybreak of the 26th of July, when the fog was so thick that we could not see a foot ahead, and a cool breeze was sweeping through space after the shower of the previous evening, thousands of warriors began to move like a long serpent through the dark. At 3 A. M. we reached the foot of Iwayama, which was assigned to the reserve of our regiment. On the top of this hill was the position for the skirmishers; another hill to the right was assigned to the artillery. Until the signal for opening hostilities was given, even one man’s head was not allowed to be thrust out of the line. All loaded their guns and were breathlessly waiting for the colonel’s order, “Fire!” He was standing on the top of Iwayama with his field-glasses in his hand; his aide-de-camp stood before him with an open map, and occasionally fumbled about in his knapsack. Pack-horses loaded with ammunition were gathered together at the foot of the hill, and the soldiers detailed to distribute it were eagerly waiting to begin work. The signal was to be a cannon-shot; we studied the hands of our watches and our hearts jumped as the time went on minute after minute.

At forty-nine minutes past seven, the first roar was at last heard on the left wing. It was the signal for commencing attack on the enemy along Laotso-shan and Taipo-shan. For the last twenty days, we had not discharged a single shot, so this cannon report must have taken the enemy unawares, and their hurried response sounded dull and sleepy and went high above our heads. Our plan was that the left wing should first attack and defeat the enemy on Laotso-shan, and then our detachment was to reinforce it. So we had to remain idle for some time and watch the progress of their attack on Laotso-shan. After a while, our naval guns began to make such a tremendous noise, that we hoped the enemy would soon be scared to death and give up their advance posts as our easy prey. But they proved stronger than we thought and did not disperse themselves like baby-spiders before our assault.

The fight increased in severity as time went on; our whole artillery was concentrated upon the heavy artillery on the northern slope of Laotso-shan and endeavored with might and main to silence them. After some time, when the enemy’s fire had slackened a little, our infantry of the left wing began to march forward under the protecting fire of our artillery. At once they captured a crescent-shaped height, about two thousand metres ahead of us; immediately afterward they turned to the left and occupied the northern shoulder of Laotso-shan at ten o’clock. It seemed that the Russians had not fortified these places very strongly, for, after some resistance, they gave up the large fort on the important spot of Laotso-shan. Still their resistance was quite stubborn, and even when our infantry occupied the top of the hill, a portion of the enemy still stuck to the southern slope and stood fearlessly and desperately under our concentrated downward fire. This was the cause of the long duration of this attack. Eventually our left wing succeeded in routing and driving them away from this spot; but they had the inlet of Lungwang-tang at their back and could not retreat in that direction. Soon they were hard pressed and obliged to leave many dead and wounded behind; the remainder jumped into junks and concealed themselves on the opposite side of the inlet.

The work assigned to the left wing being thus finished, our regiment now had the great opportunity of attacking the enemy. Whereupon Colonel Aoki ordered all his captains, “Whole line begin firing from the right.” All at once the whole line thrust out its head, the first and second battalions on the right and the third on the left. Their firing sounded like popping corn. As soon as we began, the Russian bullets began to fall in large drops about us, stirring up sand, kicking stones, and felling men. Those that passed near our ears made a whistling sound, and those going high through the air, a trembling boom. Our skirmish-line, forming a long chain, lost its links here and there; the carriers of stretchers ran hither and thither conveying the dead and wounded to the first aids. There was not only the hail of rifle-shot, but large projectiles began to burst over our heads and emit white smoke. The fragments of shell fell on the ground with a thud and made holes, or pierced the skirmishers’ heads from above. Sometimes the empty case of a shell would go past the hill and fall in the midst of our reserve. While I was still with the reserve I actually saw a soldier, who was struck by such an empty shell, lose his right arm and die on the spot. When we examined an empty shell later on, we discovered inside it, first a piece of overcoat, then a piece of coat, then a piece of undershirt, then flesh and bone, then again underwear, coat, and overcoat, together with grass and pebbles stained with blood.

This struggle lasted for several hours; the enemy’s artillery was very strong and we could not find a chance to go forward. Our dead and wounded increased so fast that the stretchers prepared were not sufficient. The fire reached even the first aid stations far in the rear. Some wounded soldiers there were injured again or killed. It was a desperate fight. The reserves were brought about to the left of the artillery’s position, so that they could form an assaulting column at a moment’s notice and rush upon the enemy when the opportunity came. At this time I was with them, carrying the regimental flag. Because our position was with the artillery and because the flag was a great target for the enemy, the Russians in Wangchia-tun began at once a fierce fire on us. Their concentrated fire was well aimed, and their shells came like rain, falling sideways in the wind. When the smoke cleared away for a minute, we found a lieutenant who had, just a moment before, been bravely ordering his men, lying dead covered with blood. The chief of the gun detachment and also the gunners were torn to pieces, their brains gushing out and their bowels mixing with mud and blood. When the reserve gunners went to take their places, they also were killed. Such a bloody scene can never be realized without an actual sight; my pen is powerless to describe it.

Our reserve having suffered no small loss before the strong fire of the enemy, we had no resource left but to try a desperate assault upon them. Every moment longer that we remained in this position meant the loss of so many more men. Clouds had been gathering and lowering in the sky for some time; it was dark and dreary. Soon the swift wind ran side by side with powder and smoke, and muddy rain fell obliquely with the shot and shell. At this dismal stage of affairs we, the reserves, were ordered to join the colonel. We at once left the artillery and began to march to the left, clambering over the rocks. The sharp wind flapped the colors violently, and I feared that they might be torn to pieces any moment. At this juncture a shell burst over my head and its fragments rent the air; a part of the flag was blown away, a man was killed, and a piece of the shell fell into a valley far behind us.

As was said before, the colonel was on the top of Iwayama; the enemy was sure that our strength was concentrated there and showered upon it a hail-storm of shrapnel. Colonel Aoki stood in the midst of that as firm and unflinching as Ni-ō or Fudō,[47] staring at the enemy with steady gaze. When I approached him and reported the tearing of the flag, he simply remarked, “So!” After a while he said, “Isn’t this just like a manœuvre?”

He was so full of courage and strength, his fearless and composed attitude was such an inspiration to his subordinates, that the somewhat despondent soldiers at once recovered their spirits and energy on looking up at his face.

It was already 2 P.M., and yet the fighting had not come to any decisive result. Our casualties increased in number hour after hour. At this moment a portion of our left wing began to move forward. Our detachment was also ordered forward, whereupon the whole line of men rose like a dark fence, and pushed on right to the muzzles of the enemy’s guns. The Russians seized this opportunity to increase the intensity of their fire; those of us who went forward were mowed down, and those who did not press on were already dead! Lieutenant Yatsuda was shot through the chest, yet he continued to shout, “Forward! Forward!” paying no attention to the gushing blood and without letting his men know of his wound. He pressed on furiously about a thousand metres toward the enemy, and when he approached the line to be occupied he shouted Banzai faintly and died.

A brave commander’s men are always brave! One of Yatsuda’s men had his right arm shattered before his lieutenant was shot, but he would not stay behind. When the lieutenant told him to go to the first aid, he said, “Why, such a tiny wound! I can still fight very well, sir.” He poured out water from his bottle and washed his wound, bound it up with a Japanese towel, and pressed on panting with the skirmishers, his gun in his left hand. When he came near the enemy’s line, he was killed by the side of Lieutenant Yatsuda, whom the brave fellow considered his elder brother. Even in his death he grasped his gun firmly. Both of them showed the true spirit of Japanese warriors, doing their duty till the last moment and even after death.

At last the reserve in the hands of Colonel Aoki was reduced to two companies of infantry and one of engineers. What a disastrous struggle this had been! Ever since morning our artillery had been trying hard to silence the powerful guns of the enemy. Their desperate efforts were all in vain, and the strong posts of the enemy remained without damage. What a disappointment! Our infantry were already only five or six hundred metres from the enemy, but until our artillery should have destroyed the offensive and defensive works of the Russian forts, an assault would have resulted only in complete annihilation. So these infantry men were patiently waiting quite close to the enemy for the right moment to come. The long summer day at last came to its close, and the dreary curtain of darkness enveloped the scene of battle.

The rain ceased for awhile, but the night was dismal. Hundreds of dead bodies were strewn on hill and in valley, while the enemy’s forts towered high against the dark sky as if challenging us to a fruitless attack. But our morale was not at all impaired; on the contrary, this day’s failure added to our firm resolve to storm and defeat the Russians on the next. During the night the firing of guns and rifles went on unceasingly, and in carrying the dead we had to use tents to supply the deficiency of stretchers. The wounded were also picked up and carried to the rear by the ambulance men. And we who had escaped injury sat by the side of our silent dead and without sleep waited impatiently for a better day to break.

THE OCCUPATION OF TAIPO-SHAN

ON the next day, the 27th, fully determined to drive out the enemy, our entire artillery began firing at early dawn, striving to open a passage for our infantry. Our bombardment was more violent than on the previous day, and the enemy’s response was also proportionately fiercer. Why was it that the Russian forts were so strangely impregnable? On the line connecting the heights their trenches were faced with rocks and covered with timber roofs, and they could fire at us through portholes, safely concealed and protected from our bursting shells. They had quick-firing guns and machine-guns arranged in different places so that they could fire at us from all points and directions, and these formidable guns were well protected with strong works built of strong material. Added to all this, the side of our hill and the opposite side of their hill formed a rocky valley with almost perpendicular walls, so that we could not climb down or up without superhuman efforts. To attack such a strongly armed enemy in a place of such natural advantage meant a great amount of sacrifice on our part.

So long as our artillery remained unsuccessful, our rifle fire was of course of no use. Somehow we must damage the enemy’s machine-guns, otherwise all our efforts would end only in adding to our already long list of dead and wounded. This we well understood, but if we could not utilize our firearms, our only and last resource was to shoot off human beings, to attack with bullets of human flesh. With such unique weapons,—human bullets, the consolidated essence of Yamato Damashii,—how could we fail to rout the enemy? Orders were soon given. The fifth, seventh, and tenth companies of our regiment precipitated themselves down into the valley and began a furious assault on the enemy; whereupon the Russian artillery, who had hitherto been aiming at our artillery, directed their guns upon this forlorn hope, this rushing column. Simultaneously all the machine-guns and all the infantry in the forts concentrated their fire upon this desperate body, who pressed on like a swift wind with shouts and yells, not a whit daunted by this devilish fire. Their shrieks and the cannon-roar combined sounded like a hundred thunders thundering at the same moment. Press on! rush in! They fought like so many furies, wounded officers unheeded and fallen comrades ignored! Stepping on and jumping over the dead and dying, the survivors came at last within a dozen metres or so of the enemy. But they could not overcome nature—the rocky precipice stood like a screen before them, and half their comrades were strewn dead on the side of the hill at their backs; they could do nothing but stand there facing and staring at the enemy. While this assaulting column was pressing on under the heavy shower of shells and bullets, the sight was stirring beyond words; the men moved on like light gray shadows enshrouded in volumes of smoke. Some of them were seen flying high up in the air, hurled by the big shells. When their bodies were picked up, some had no wound at all, but the skin had turned purplish all over. This was caused by the throwing up and consequent heavy fall on the ground.

The enemy’s resistance was so stubborn that our fire seemed as powerless as beating a big temple-bell with a pin. If we had gone on in this way, we might have failed entirely. We had to attempt a final charge at the risk of annihilation. Soon the following order was given by the brigadier-general:—

“The courageous behavior of our officers and men since the beginning of the battle is worthy of all admiration. Our brigade is to attack the enemy along the eastern side of Taipo-shan at 5 P. M. to-day, to bombard with the entire force of the artillery, and the left wing to charge when our bombardment opens to them an opportunity, and thus to overwhelm and defeat the enemy. Your regiment must strive with the utmost effort to improve this opportunity and occupy the enemy’s position at your front.”

Yes, we were anxious to defeat the enemy with our utmost and most desperate effort! This was the day for us to unfurl our colors high above the enemy’s fortress and to comfort the spirits of those who during the past few days had died without hearing a triumphant Banzai.

A group of officers, while waiting for a proper opportunity to strike, were talking about the condition of affairs since the previous morning.

“The enemy is certainly brave! I noticed a Russian officer commanding his men from the top of a breastwork.”

“Yes, they are fighting hard; but we must carry their position _to-day_!”

We were beginning to feel that the Russian strength came not only from their mechanical defenses, but also from their intrepid behavior; but all were agreed in their ardent resolve to defeat the enemy and avenge their unfortunate comrades. Presently a young officer came along with a bottle of beer. Since the previous day we had been almost without food or drink, and this bottle of beer seemed a strange sight on the battle-field. We all wondered who he might be, and as he drew nearer we recognized Lieutenant Kwan, adjutant of the battalion.

“Isn’t it a rare treat, this beer? I have been carrying this bottle in my belt since yesterday, to drink a Banzai in the enemy’s position. But now let us drink it together as a farewell cup. You have all been very kind to me—I have made up my mind to die beautifully to-day.”